


Retaliation

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Non Consensual, Season/Series 02, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written anonymously in reply to this prompt left in <a href="http://borgiaskink.livejournal.com/">The Borgias Kink Meme</a></p><p>Cesare/Michelleto, spanking with top!Michelleto<br/>Spoilers for 2 x05<br/>Michelleto punishes Cesare for trolling his mother by spanking him until his bottom's the shade his robes are. Bonus if he calls him "Your Eminence" the entire time and kneels to ask for forgiveness after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retaliation

Micheletto had something to show him in the dungeon, something about personal stuff of the French Scouts, or Cesare Borgia thought he said so. Since their return from Forlì his henchman was chewing his words so bad he was barely understandable, but if Micheletto requested his presence, he must have a really valid reason. He went to their safe house, all clad in leather, as if they were to start another adventure; to be inconspicuous was the key to manage this whole operation.  
  
His assassin was crouched next the stairs, one hand was messing his dirty hair; the other was dangling a dagger between his thighs. That was strange, nonetheless Cesare brushed that behavior away since what could be gloominess in another person for Micheletto was just his charming self. When their eyes meet, Cesare made a sign with his head toward him to signal him the small dungeon. Micheletto rose, picked up a torch and followed him.  
  
“Do you find something?” he asked with a whisper, although there was no one to hear him.  
  
“Something is nagging me.”  
  
"Spit it out, Micheletto."  
  
"In Forlì, Your Eminence," the assassin mumbled, his hand fell on Cesare's shoulder, "Were you mocking me," a pause, "or my mother?"  
  
Cesare lulled by the contact believed that was a friendly chat: "Your mother, of course. Taunting you was a nice surplus. Why do you ask?"  
  
“Because I have killed for less, Your Eminence.”  
  
Cesare tried to turn his head, but the butt of the torch knocked him on the nape and darkness fell on him.

*~*~*

  
  
The world began to return to it in the form of a few shreds of dim light and the sound metal against metal, his head was still heavy by the hit. The idea that his faithful Micheletto attacked him finally sunk in his head and Cesare realized he was in danger. He tried to get up but he couldn’t, his body didn’t respond to his commands; his arms were against his chest and he couldn’t spread them, there was something binding them; he tried to kick but his feet only made a clanking sound. Something similar to a cramp gripped his belly, and he realized he was utterly scared.  
  
Cesare spent some moments in darkness and silence, trying to recognize his limits. At least, he was fully clothed, the riding boots were still hugging his calves, and his doublet was on his back, slightly untied. This made no sense, when Micheletto had his way with the French scouts, his first care has been to take off the leather garments; they were too much protection for the spirit. Was Micheletto not planning to torture him? If so, then why he tied his hands together and put his feet on shackles?  
  
The crack on the door rekindled his anxiety, Micheletto came into the dungeon with a lit torch and a leather bundle, and he passed by his side without a glance, left his package on a table and lit some of the torches in the wall. Apparently, he was planning to make a spectacle, because he went to his package, opened it up and started to check their contents: Riding crops, whips, a flexible twig... The sound of those implements cutting the air where more threatening than any words that Micheletto could address to him. Yet that ginger brute didn’t seem satisfied, the frown in his face was evident and the slouch of his shoulders was more pronounced when he finally approached to Cesare.

“If you finished with your toys, Micheletto,” Cesare never thought that it was just a friendly prank, but he had to throw it a chance, “I would like to be free.”  
  
The assassin behaved as he didn’t hear his plea and he used both of his hands to make him stand up, with the same careless rudeness he treated the French scouts. His deft hands were untying his belt —it was mostly ornamental— but his unwavering eyes watched Cesare closely.  
  
“Alright, I’m not to be free... yet,” Cesare insisted, the belt was removed from his waist. “What do you want from me? An apology? I’m so bored of this game that I’ll give it to you. Ask and you shall receive.”  
  
Micheletto ignored him; his gaze was concentrated in the belt, doubled it up, raised it to his shoulder and discharged it on the edge of the table with all his force. Cesare flinched.  
  
“Why ask for something when you can take it?” Micheletto asked, almost to himself.  
  
“So, you are planning to take something...”  
  
“Something sweet,” His fingers caressed the table, feeling the depressions the studs made in its surface. He shook his head.  
  
“Like vengeance?”  
  
Micheletto didn’t answer, his hands reached behind Cesare and untied the rope that kept his hands close to the chest, for a brief moment the cardinal noticed the leather piece covered with loops of twine from palms to elbows. With his attention diverted Micheletto had time to pass the line through a metal ring on the floor and he started to pull it, slowly but steadily.  
  
“Enough with this nonsense!” Cesare claim, trying to fight, realizing his feet were chained to the floor and he couldn’t retreat, “Killing me should be easier!”  
  
“Some things should not be easy, Your Eminence,” Micheletto replied, pulling the rope.  
  
Cesare stumbled when he felt the jerk; the ring in the floor really seems to help to reinforce Micheletto’s strength. The cardinal tried to fight the force, but he was brought to his knees and lower, since Micheletto just keep pulling his bounded hands with a gesture of deep concentration until he tied it with a double knot and checked his sturdiness with a couple of yanks.  
  
“Punishment should not be easy,” Micheletto said with a musing voice.  
  
Like that Sforza business, Cesare noted.  
  
“So? Are you going to chastise me?” Cesare demanded trying to break free, his weight was resting on his elbows. “This is too convoluted for a simple correction!”  
  
Once his prey was secured, Micheletto disregarded his protest and used his hands to unlace that tight leather trousers and the codpiece. Cesare gulped when Micheletto’s crotch touched his hip as his nimble fingers undo the knots, the lack of hardness was even more upsetting than his bounds.  
  
“You are laying hands on your master!”  
  
“I’m aware, Your Eminence,” Micheletto answered, peeling off the cloth from Cesare’s sweating skin.  
  
Cesare fell silent when the weak breeze of the dungeon caressed his naked backside; a legion of abhorrent, dreadful and shocking ideas came to his brain flooded by fear, but once Micheletto had the folds arranged as his please he left him alone, exposed a little humiliated, but unscathed. That state was bound to be changed unpleasantly —Cesare was as sure about that as he was sure his name was Borgia— because Micheletto kept rummaging about his torture tools with his cold thoroughness. Cesare noticed a huff of frustration, the hands of Micheletto swept away with the things on the table. The assassin was hesitating, if Cesare could have an opportunity this was it.

“I’m your master!” Cesare insisted, somehow he managed to keep away his fear out of his voice.

Micheletto’s voice was lost in thoughts when he replied: “That’s why you are going to get out of this easy.”

His decision was not open to appeal, the heavy thud against the table punctuate this fact.

“I’ll see you are not to suffer permanent damage.” Micheletto walked until he was in front of him, he dragged a surcingle behind him. “I’ll see you are not to forget.”

The idea was clear now, Cesare cringed in anticipated pain at the sight that wicked leather strap but he kept his mouth closed. He wouldn’t give Micheletto the pleasure of seeing him humiliated nor scared, even when he was.

“You may want to stick it out a bit,” Micheletto’s face went almost to the floor to see him in the eyes. “It will hurt you a little less.” His face was mostly warm and kind, but his eyes promised hellfire blisters. “Experience talking here, Your Eminence.”

“I’m going to kill you for this, Micheletto!” Cesare Borgia almost screamed; his dark hair was a curtain to hide his embarrassment.

“I’d be grateful,” the assassin was deadly serious about it, like it was something he craved from the bottom of his heart. “But first, I’ll tan your hide, yes?”

“If you are asking my permission, you don’t have it!” Cesare screamed, despite this situation was way beyond his control.

“I wasn’t, Your Eminence,” Micheletto said, stood up and walked briskly to the other side.

“Then don’t heap scorn ov-owch!”

The first lick took Cesare by surprise. It was quick. It was mean. It was painful. Micheletto hit him across the bottom, where his thighs and buttocks meet, the strap painted a line of fire that cut his breath and made him howl. He never felt something like this in his whole life!

“I don’t want to gag you, Your Eminence.” Micheletto let the strap rest across that warmed bottom. “Where would be the valor in that?” He said with a heavy sigh of disappointment. “Or the pleasure?”

Micheletto was ruthless, he would never stop until Cesare would be reduced to a pitiful heap of sobs and cries for mercy, and Cardinal Borgia knew it. Almost against his will and his good sense he found himself putting out his ass, as Micheletto recommended him, waiting for the next lick of the strap.

Micheletto didn’t keep him waiting, with a swift turn of the wrist he draw that wicked strap and landed it across his bare cheeks with a mean crack of leather against skin. With clear mind, Cesare felt the heat spreading through his backside, in deep waves that traveled his spine till it stopped at his addled brain where the sting exploded viciously, drawing tears to his wide open eyes.

There were some mumbled words behind him, but Cesare couldn’t understand it over the sound of his pained groan and the sound of leather cutting through the air. Cesare whined his pain despite his best efforts to muffle it; the hit left him shaking, his breast was trembling and, to his utter shame, the first sob passed his lips. The chagrin of being reduced to a crying child on the third lick was unbearable. Micheletto didn’t allowed him to wallow in self-pity, with martial precision and ruthless aim he licked the most cushy part of his bottom, filling Cesare’s mind with that stabbing, mind-numbing pain.

Many a word was spoken in jest, but Cardinal Borgia discovered that his joke about being a _maestro_ was painfully true in Micheletto’s case. He spoke under his breath while Cesare tried to ride the wave of pain and when the suffering started to fade away, he released another dry bite of leather with perfect azimuth to rekindle the sting. The count was lost, all that Cesare wanted was this punishment to being over, and the only thing that kept his mind sane was the idea of the nasty retaliation he certainly would unleash on that ginger’s skin once he finished serving those damned burning licks. This body was another story, it failed him when his mind had amassed enough hate to keep going, and he collapsed in the dungeon floor, barely more than heap of shivers, hate, and sobs.  
  
“Up!” Micheletto commanded, his voice was neither angry nor excited. “On your knees.”  
  
Cesare, still shaking on the floor, decided that he will not rise to be punished again; Micheletto could beat him just where he was, for all he cared. He wished his hands free to rub his aching buttocks, but Micheletto did a good work and he barely could wriggle his fingers.  
  
“Up!” The order was repeated, and this time enforced by some callous hand pulling his ball sack upwards.  
  
The tug was enough to convince him that Micheletto was very capable of crush his nuts to force him to assume the position and Cesare was aching enough to have another part of his body pained. As he struggled to put his weight on his knees, Cesare realized two worrisome facts that shamed and scared him. The first one was he was hard as a damned iron rod and Micheletto surely noticed it with the tips of his fingers; Cesare’s high cheeks were colored almost the same tone of his bottom cheeks. The second one was that his balls were unprotected between his thighs and Micheletto couldn’t miss the chance to strap them, he was such a sadistic bastard!  
  
Micheletto didn’t give him time to worry; the strap fell with mechanical accuracy, brushing barely his gems before lashing his bottom spitefully. The point was made: his balls were not the target, but Cesare breathed easier when those sagged between his thighs as he tried to keep the position and to hold his whimpers. Cesare was reaching the limit of his endurance, he didn’t fell the tears or the shame any more, just the heat on his rear end.  
  
Micheletto seemed aware of that fact so he repeated his mumbles and struck his ass once more, snapping the leather with savage force before saying with clear voice, as he dropped the surcingle: “We are done, Your Eminence.”  
  
Were more beautiful words in any language? Cesare took them without any grace; he just let his weight drop in the floor, letting his mind wander away from the pain.

*~*~*

  
  
Cesare regained consciousness when some careful hands touched his aching ass with some cool, slippery substance; his first reaction was to push away the body attached to those aforementioned hands. To his surprise, he was able to do it, and he rolled on the floor to scape form that other human being. No one prevented him from raise to his feet and he did it, wincing and grimacing.  
  
The sound of an object hitting the ground in front of him made him flinch, but the Cardinal recovered his cold blood soon enough and peered the dark mass at his feet. A scourge, long braided leather tails, ending on wooden balls. Cesare's eyes wandered to the general direction from where it came.

Prostrated in his direction, exposing his bare back toward his master, Micheletto was waiting for him with silence and resignation. That red headed beast had not the good sense to flee from his rage. Cesare felt the turmoil of pain and humiliation inside him. He didn't even dreamed of stopping his hand as he picked up the whip, he was going to beat Micheletto within an inch from his worthless life and then he would flay him alive from the rest of it!  
  
Micheletto raised his head to see him, there was no regret in his eyes, just a small frown of disdain before his lips let out two words while he bowed his head, with full acquiescence to his master's wrath.  
  
Cesare stopped dead in his tracks. It was the same whisper Micheletto uttered each time he raised that damned surcingle to beat him. The Cardinal snorted his frustration, willing his ears to not understand those two words, but you can't unring a bell.  
  
“What did you said?” Cesare asked to the prostrated form in front of him.  
  
Micheletto didn't answer, he didn't even stir. Cesare Borgia needed a reply and he would extract it from that inscrutable monolith, his hand grasped a good deal of that mane and forced Micheletto to see him.  
  
“What did you said?”  
  
“I said ‘for mama’, Your Eminence.”  
  
Cesare let him go, snorting his discomfiture, still more, his defeat. He couldn't flay Micheletto, even Cesare should recognize his own hypocrisy; his henchman was just defending his mother.  
  
“How many times did you hit me?”  
  
“Once for each jeering, Your Eminence,” Micheletto replied and raised his head.  
  
There was confusion in his expression, not fear nor regret. Cesare couldn't stand it and threw him his soiled shirt to the face.  
  
“Live with the memory of them.”  
  
Micheletto fidgeted with his shirt until he poked out his head from the collar, his face was the living picture of regret and shame. Cesare, while adjusting his trousers over his swollen cheeks, decided that was the cruelest thing his mind could concoct for his punishment.  
  
“Was I in harm’s way, Micheletto?” Cesare asked, rubbing his scorched butt, he could feel the heat through the thick layers of fabric and leather.  
  
“Not for a moment, Your Eminence,” Micheletto said, pulling his doublet over his unharmed back.

**Author's Note:**

> I simply could't make it work consensual.


End file.
